O Holy Night!
by cassierigum
Summary: A little fic I wrote last Christmas for Checkmated. My first ever fanfiction. Very loosely based on the hymn O Holy Night. Hermione thinks abou the war.


OOC: This fan fiction is my first, so be constructive please! It's inspired by the Christmas hymn 'O Holy Night!'. Enjoy!

**O Holy Night**!

_Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining,_

_It is the night, of our dear Saviour's birth._

_Long lay the world, in sin and error pining,_

_Till he appeared and the sword felt its worth._

_A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, _

_For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn!_

_Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices! _

_O night devine! Oh night, when Christ was born!_

The stars shone brightly on a sleeping town, and on the lone woman, barely out of puberty, wide-awake.

Hermione found herself humming a half-forgotten song as she stood in the doorway. She stopped herself and sighed. _No time for laughter, or play_, she thought, _and certainly no time for music_. Her grip tightened on her wand. _No time for anything but fighting_.

Through the pale moonlight, one could see her forehead creased in worry, deepened by pain, as she scanned the night sky. 'The brightest witch her age' – that's what she had been called. But what age was she? The war had branded her and stolen her youth.

She had killed. It hurt her to think of it. _It was them or you_, a logical voice in her head told her. Try as she might, she couldn't accept her own reasoning. _I'm a murderer_, she thought savagely.

Something moved in the corner of her eye, and she moved deeper into the dark shadow of the porch. Cautiously, she looked out. Nothing was there. Nothing to be seen, and nothing to be heard. This unsettled her even more. What had happened to the others? She had left them just outside the town as night fell. And then nothing. Nothing for hours. Nothing but her thoughts, plugging into her uncertainties. Her imagination, preying on her fears.

_Fears! Ha!_ She laughed dryly at the thought. Too many of her fears had already been faced. She had seen friends killed. She had been tortured, she had been hurt, she had been defenceless…

And then Ron mentioned that he thought it would be a good idea for her to step down from fieldwork. To stay behind. To plan strategies. To be logical. She smiled a mirthless smile. Logical, that's what she was to him. Logical and defenceless. And of course, he spoke to Harry. And after Harry had said something, she had stopped being one of the best war mages the Order had, and was now the safety guard. Forced to stay back - away from fighting, away from danger. Waiting in safety as her friends fought.

How she hated waiting. The problem with wizards duelling was that their whole battles could be silent. Most war mages were trained to whisper their curses, as more often than not, their opponents could have time to defend themselves from a known spell. This knowledge did not lessen Hermione's worry. She knew it was unlikely she would be able to hear something. She knew that as she thought these things Ron was out there, fighting for his life. But she so wanted to hear something, just so she could know what was happening…

At the mission briefing, she had been told that it was unlikely more than two Death Eaters would appear. So three mages had been sent. Ron, Dean and Hermione. A year ago, sending people their age out to fight would be unheard of… but as the older ones died, the younger ones were forced to stand and take up arms. This was just a change over. The enemy was moving something. The Order didn't know what, but it wanted to get it anyway.

Red safety sparks appeared above the row of houses. Ron! He was safe! Her heart skipped a beat as Ron entered the square, his wand brandished like a sword._ My knight_, Hermione mused._ My saviour_. The barest of smiles tickled her mouth. Ron turned to her, and through the grime and weariness, Hermione half- imagined she saw a smile on his lips too. Seven years – that's how long she had known him, and she loved him more with each second. Just looking at him sent a thrill through her body.

Following behind him was Dean. He was carrying a mysterious object that was wrapped in some cloth. He stopped a bit away from the doorway that Hermione had been standing in. He nodded to her, and motioned to Ron. Hermione understood. Without saying a word, Dean had told her he would keep watch as Hermione tended to Ron. Hermione's gaze snapped towards Ron. What was wrong with him?

As he drew towards her, she noticed he was hurt. His robes were torn on his right forearm and blood, barely noticeable against the black fabric, was oozing out. She looked into his eyes questioningly, but found nothing except true exhaustion. She sat him down and proceeded to quietly bandage him up.

"It's a bad break and a cut. Don't worry, I'll fix it in a minute," her words sounded so loud in the silent street. She took out her wand, and muttered some quiet incantations, letting Ron speak first.

"Three of them," Ron finally managed, his voice hollow. "Practically kids. Zabini in charge and the other two…." He faltered. "'Mione," he breathed, barely above a whisper. The bandage done, she sat beside him, and placed her hand on his. Ron's eyes were drawn to her small hand, resting on his large one. He moved it, and held onto her hand. He looked back at Hermione.

"They were younger than Ginny. Not even out of school. Just kids. They…" He stopped again. "Why Hermione?"

Hermione turned to him, her face showing the pain she felt. "They chose their own fate when they followed Voldemort. It was you or them." Her own words felt bitter in her mouth. How could she say things she didn't believe? Why must she search for a reason to rid herself of guilt?

They sat together, deep in shadow, finding their own answers in the silence. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder. A red glow on the horizon heralded the morning. In front of them, Dean kept looking directly in front of him. Hermione felt sorry for him. Not many people had managed to find any comfort in the war. Not many people were as lucky as Hermione and Ron.

"Ron?" Hermione finally whispered, breaking the silence. After a few moments, she continued. "You know I said that it's you or them?" Ron merely nodded, still too deep in thought. "Please, Ron, promise me that… that it'll never be you."

Ron looked up, and into Hermione's eyes. For what seemed an eternity they sat, eyes locked. Ron brushed his hand against Hermione's cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

"I promise," said Ron, and leant towards Hermione, kissing her tenderly.

"I promise."

O Night Devine!


End file.
